


we'll go down in history

by soldiergame



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, fate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldiergame/pseuds/soldiergame
Summary: “Being with you makes me feel alive, Keito.”“If I recall correctly, being with me nearly got you killed on several occasions,” Keito deadpans.





	

_The Holy Grail War is a competition between seven individuals that decides the ownership of the Grail with an all-out battle royale. Although there have been numerous conflicts over supposed Holy Grails in the past, the term ‘Holy Grail War’ refers to wars revolving around masters, usually proficient magi, who summon Servants and clash in battle until only one pair is left to claim the Holy Grail._  

 

* * *

 

As the sole heir of the Tenshouin lineage, Eichi is no stranger to assassins and mercenaries, and neither is he unfamiliar with sneaking out of the castle to explore the vast forest that separates it from the rest of the city, away from the prying eyes of the castle’s servants, who would surely step in and steal away these rare moments of freedom. 

He darts between trees with practiced ease, straying away from the stone path, his pale form a stark contrast against the deep green foliage. Stealing out into the night has become a hobby of sorts for him, he supposes, because one eventually tires of the graces and airs they have to put up when dealing with the elite nobility.

He pretends not to notice the command seals clearly etched onto his hand. Though recent, they serve as a heavy reminder of the responsibilities placed upon his shoulders since childhood.

It is not like he has much of a choice in this matter, being the only child of two elite magi, he thinks dryly, footsteps light and steady as he ventures into the woods, straying further and further away from the designated path. 

If only he could steer himself away from the life his parents had paved for him, he sighs, shaking away the suffocating memories of formal events and the evils that hide themselves behind saccharine smiles.

 

* * *

 

_Command seals, also known as command spells, appear on those who have been selected to participate in a Holy Grail War. They usually appear on the arm, sometimes up to three years before the war begins. Each master is granted three command seals to show their status as a master, and the seals will only disappear when a magus loses the right to be a master, or gives up their position as a master._

 

* * *

 

Eichi makes his first friend when he is twelve — a young boy from the house of a distinguished magus. Growing up as an only child had been awfully lonely, and he had begged and begged his parents to find him a friend, until they had given in, and brought him to one of their business meetings. There, he met his new playmate, a boy of his age, who, to his great joy, seemed to have no reservations about running around and going off on grand adventures, things a child his age should have no qualms about doing.

(Eichi is no ordinary child, though, a fact that everyone seemed to love reminding him of. But here, with his new friend, he felt liberated, free from the suffocating stench of lies and ulterior motives of the adult world.) 

Except, that too, was nothing but a sweet, sweet lie, a lie told to keep him content, and rid the adults of his constant pestering. 

(“Just do whatever he says,” comes the woman’s hushed voice, full of greed — a stark contrast of the sweet greetings she spouted whenever they interacted, “They’re paying us for this, after all.”)

After that, Eichi stops asking for friends. Instead, he makes connections, contracts, deals, relationships that had nothing unconditional about them. After all, people were only interested in him because of what he could provide them with, so why shouldn’t he look at them the same way? 

Even friendship came with a price, and he had learnt it the hard way. What a fool he was, to believe that people would like him without seeing his status, his family name, and the shining, glittering path that he was destined _(doomed)_ to walk on. Using and being used… such is the nature of humans, he muses as he recalls how easily he had people under his thumb with a mere suggestion, followed by a polite smile and the promise of riches or status. 

It was so… human. _(Disgusting)._

 

* * *

 

He is so lost in his thoughts, that he does not notice the uninvited guest trailing cautiously behind him, knife in hand.

 It is only when a dry twig snaps behind him that he realises that he is being tailed. 

He runs, adrenaline taking over his body sending him further and further into the woods. Footsteps, loud and clattering, chase him as he flees, changing directions every few metres in order to throw off his assailant. 

Then, he stumbles upon it. An abandoned shrine — definitely uninhabited, almost falling to pieces, but it would have to do. 

Eichi ducks into the crumbling doorway, looking around for something — anything, that could be used as a weapon. A glint, metal, he presumes, catches his eye, and he snatches it up before realising that it is a bow, a quiver of rather quaint-looking arrows lying next to it. 

Pale hands tremble as they draw the string taut. Silently, he curses the fact that he was not allowed to participate in any form of physical sport as a child — learning archery would most certainly help him in this situation. 

The bow clatters to the ground, Eichi’s blood staining the old wooden flooring as his assailant’s knife nicks him in the arm. 

He won’t _(can’t)_ die here, not in a place like this. 

Suddenly, he sees the bow in front of him, arrow notched and ready to strike. He sees green, green like the viridian forest that surrounds Tenshouin castle, and firm hands, a shade darker than his. The vision fades away within seconds, but it is more than enough time for the assassin to send another knife flying towards his face. He ducks to the side, but it still leaves a long, shallow gash on his cheek. His chest burns and for the umpteenth time, Eichi curses his weak constitution. 

He is on the ground, choking on blood and struggling to predict the man’s next attack. His chest is burning, whether it is from the running or from his condition, Eichi does not know. 

Tenshouin Eichi, they had said, a young prodigy with a broken body that could not keep up with his mind. 

Unknown to both of them, a magic circle begins to glow softly, as if assessing the potential of the people in the room, before the light becomes blinding, causing both him and his attacker to halt as a form began to materialise in front of them, the golden particles unmistakable. 

Standing before him, is a Servant. A servant summoned from the Holy Grail. 

The assassin has no time to react before an arrow buries itself neatly between his eyes, barely managing a choked cry before collapsing onto the ground. Eichi looks down, only to find his hands empty. 

The servant before him, Archer, he presumes, stares at him, sharp green eyes scrutinising his appearance, taking in the blooded front of his shirt, along with the scrapes and bruises that adorn his limbs. He fidgets slightly, not used to being observed so carefully. 

Finally, as if deciding that Eichi had fulfilled some sort of prerequisite, the servant speaks. 

“Hasumi Keito, servant Archer. I have come in response to your summoning.”

Eichi stands shakily, a few stray coughs escaping him as he raises his head. A droplet of red slides down his chin, but he pays it no mind.

“I ask you… are you my master?”

And he smiles, crimson blood a stark contrast to pale blue eyes and even paler skin. 

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

_Servants are Heroic or Divine Spirits summoned by the Holy Grail in order to compete under a master, typically a powerful magus, who is able to supply them with the magical energy they need to compete in the Holy Grail War._

_ In a Holy Grail War, there are usually seven servants summoned, all from different classes.  _

_There is the Saber class, servants that are agile and extremely adept in melee combat. Many claim that it is the best class, and there is many a mage who would go to great lengths to summon a Saber-class servant._  

_The Lancer class, servants that are skilled with long-range weapons such as lances and spears._  

_The Archers, who are proficient with projectile-based weapons such as bows and arrows, can be a tad difficult to control, but under the hands of an adept master, flourish in the war, as they can survive for a longer period of time without a master nearby._  

_Riders specialise in utilising their mounts, which can range from horses to divine beings. They focus on speed and the power of their Noble Phantasms, often unleashing overwhelming attacks that leave their foes completely at their mercy._

  _Casters excel in magecraft and sorcery of the highest caliber, but generally have extremely low close-combat abilities. Despite their weakness, they have access to magecraft that many do not have knowledge of, allowing them to take their opponents by surprise and leaving them defenceless as they use their abilities to alter the battleground to better suit their needs._

_Assassins are servants that specialise in the art of killing, and are often able to hide their presence easily. This allows them to target masters instead of servants, using their skills to operate covertly and silently as they observe and ambush their targets._

_Berserkers are servants who sacrifice their sanity for power, and are extremely difficult to control. They are, without a doubt, the most powerful of the classes in terms of raw power. However, most Masters are unable to control their servant once they have unleashed their true power, and therefore die in the resulting bloodbath._

 

* * *

 

Himemiya Tori is a curious person, Eichi decides after their first meeting. A person who looked up to him — idolised him, even, was not an uncommon sight to behold.

But there was something different about Tori, about how he had tried, and tried again, to set up the meeting, just so that he could meet his idol. Eichi had complied, on a whim, expecting to grow bored and eventually tire of the younger’s chatter. 

Instead, he finds himself impressed, at the lengths the other had gone to meet a person he barely even knew. 

True, Tori knows Tenshouin Eichi, the only heir of one of the most influential houses in the mage’s association, but he does he know _Eichi_? Does he know the boy who spent more time in the hospital than his own room, staring at (but not seeing) the numerous gifts and get-well-soon cards scattered around the room, no doubt from his various associates — if he could call them that. Does he know the boy who openly talked about dying, like it was nothing new to him (it wasn’t), or the boy who sat down and planned his own funeral at the tender age of nine?

_‘Would he still look up to me then?’_ Eichi wonders morbidly, as he enters the tastefully-decorated study. Sure, the pink-haired boy was polite, even if he was a little _too polite_ for his tastes, but what really sways him is the fact that during their entire conversation, not once, did he ever mention Eichi’s wealth or status. It ignites a brief, almost nonexistent flicker of hope in him, that maybe, just this once, there would be a person who did not see him as the heir everyone wanted him to be, but as just _Eichi_. 

Tori is no mere business associate, he acknowledges, but it did not mean that he is a friend. 

(“Friends?” his mother had sounded bewildered — confused, even, when he had brought up the subject during dinner many a summer ago. 

“We don’t need friends.”)

 

* * *

 

They meet Caster sooner than they expect to, a harmless-looking man clad in a simple labcoat, carrying glass beakers filled with curious liquids. If it wasn’t for the sinister aura he emitted, or the slight tensing in Keito’s hands, he would not have noticed anything at all. Well, aside from the fact that he had been called up to the roof of one of the city’s tallest skyscrapers, alone, by a classmate that he vaguely recalled making a deal with not too long ago. 

(Then again, Eichi is never alone anymore, not with Keito by his side, bow and arrow faithfully guarding his back.)

Aoba Tsumugi, however, is one of the few people he had never expected to meet in this situation, but he deals with it accordingly. 

“Archer,” he calls out, his voice strong and firm — nothing like the gentle, lilting tone that belonged to Tsumugi, and smiles as an arrow whizzes past his ear, headed straight for its target. 

Then, Caster’s eyes glow, and the entire rooftop thrums with magical energy, far, far beyond their predictions. Keito’s eyes widen, and he shouts for Eichi to run. 

_‘I should have noticed it sooner…!’_

Eichi takes another step back. Half a step more, and he would meet his end amidst neon lights and cars. It sounded way more appealing than having to watch as his body wasted away due to his illness, at any rate. He highly doubts that even a servant could withstand one of Caster’s attacks directly. 

“Eichi.”

Worry is creeping into Keito’s voice, and Eichi wishes that he has a means of recording it to tease his servant later. 

The bustle of Fuyuki nightlife fades away to a mere thrum in the background, and their eyes lock. 

He steps off. 

In that moment, he can hear nothing but the wind racing past his ears, and the burst of adrenaline that floods through his veins, spreading through his body like wildfire. 

It’s exhilarating, liberating, and he lets himself plummet, before an exasperated huff is heard, and strong arms encircle him. 

Black. 

Everything around him is black, feathers the colour of the night sky surrounding them as their descent is halted by a pair of large wings that sprout out of Keito’s back.

Eichi laughs breathlessly, eyes sparkling with a childlike innocence— like he hadn’t just ordered Keito to kill his schoolmate, like he hadn’t just plunged twenty stories down a skyscraper, like he hadn’t just flirted with death. 

“You could’ve died,” Keito frowns, unable to keep out the hint of worry that seeps into his words.

“I didn’t though,” Eichi smiles, “Were you worried about me, Keito~ ?” he coos, much to his servant’s annoyance, before remembering something. 

“What about Caster?” he asks, slightly concerned. After all, if Keito had managed to reach him before he hit the ground, he surely would not have been able to finish the other servant off.  

Keito is about to reply, when a sharp cry of “Eichi-sama!” interrupts him. 

_‘Ah,’_ he realises, watching a familiar pink head peer down the roof frantically, accompanied by another, more composed-looking figure — most definitely a servant.

_‘I should have guessed.’_

Eichi arranges his features into what seemed like a reassuring smile, despite his near-death experience, “I’m fine, Tori-kun. Let us head back to my house, there is much we ought to discuss.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” he begins, when they are seated, cups of tea set aside daintily, “You’re a master too.”

Tori remains silent, not bothering to confirm what they both already know. 

Casually, Eichi makes a proposition — cooperation until they are the last two masters standing. Caster has already been taken care of, and Tori reveals that Rider and his master had ambushed them on the night he summoned Yuzuru. They would no longer be a problem, Yuzuru assures them, the inconspicuous glint of silverware hinting at the other pair’s unfortunate fate. 

“That’s two down then”, the blond muses, “We are two servants closer to the Grail.” 

“Actually… I…” Tori pauses, hesitant, only continuing at the other party’s curious glance. 

“I don’t have any wishes for the Grail,” he confesses, “Meeting you, being able to speak with you, was my only wish.” 

Eichi smiles then, the briefest flickers of melancholy settling on his features.  

“Neither do I…” he whispers, his eyes fixated on the almost-empty teacup in front of him, but his thoughts far, far, away. 

Eichi has no wish. To be precise, his wishes are not _his,_ for most of his life has already been dictated by his parents, his choices made for him long before he was even able to walk, let alone speak. He was their only heir, the only successor of their nobility and prestige. That was his path to walk, a path he does not have the luxury to stray from. All he had to do was follow the path, nothing more, nothing less. He knows what he has to wish for — glory, power, prestige, things that he does not want, but has to attain, because he knows of nothing else. 

Sometimes, he compares himself to a glass ornament, made by the most skilled craftsman. The craftsman’s accomplishment is etched into the very being of the ornament itself — so breathtakingly beautiful, yet oh so fragile. As a result, it sits there elegantly in its case of glass, unable to interact with the world around it, like how he had grown up amidst the pinpricks of needles and the masses of tubes that ran from his body to the machines like a dense jungle, the steady beeping of the heart monitor being the only thing that assured the nurses that he was still living. 

_Living_ , but never truly _alive_.

 

* * *

 

Two nights after he summons Yuzuru, Tori wakes to the sound of gunfire and screams. Such attacks are not uncommon to him, and he immediately reaches for the gun hidden in his bedside table. His footsteps are silent, cautious, as he makes his way to the door, only opening it when the gunfire dies down.

Red. 

So much red. 

That is the first thing he notices, before Yuzuru turns around, blood splatters staining the crisp white of his outfit a brilliant red, the coppery scent heavy in the air. Tori halts, cane slipping from his grasp and clattering onto the floor, but he does not move, his breaths increasing rapidly as he trembles, unwanted memories threatening to surface. 

All he can see is red, bright red, slowly creeping across the plush carpeting, accompanied by bits of gore that remind him of the scene that often haunted his nightmares. 

_(There is blood everywhere, a body shielding him as a choked whisper of “Young Master…” causes droplets of crimson to land onto his nightwear. The woman slumps to the floor, using her remaining strength to pull herself on top of him — a human shield._

_“You must live, Young Master.”)_

Bright, vivid, accursed red, the smell of fresh blood making him want to throw up whatever breakfast he had consumed. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will away the memory of Yuzuru- no, Berserker, crushing skulls with his bare hands like they were sponges, snapping necks with ease as he took down a group of professional assassins within minutes. 

“Young Master?” 

“S-stay away!” Tori screams, slapping away the concerned hands that reach towards him. 

Gone is the young master he had seen when he first opened his eyes. Standing before him, is a frightened child. 

_Tori was afraid of him._  

And somehow, that thought hurt him more than any of the injuries he sustained from his scuffle with the assassins.

 

* * *

 

Yuzuru washes away the blood on his hands, ignoring the warmth pooling in his eyes. He is a servant, and servants do what is best for their masters…

… even if it meant shedding his own identity, destroying everything they stood for. 

So, he cuts his hair, dons a butler’s uniform, learns to kill with knives instead of his bare hands, because he never wants to see those terrified green eyes directed at him, ever again.

 

* * *

 

“Keito.”

Click. 

“Keitooo.”

Rustle. 

Huffing, Eichi peers over his servant’s shoulder, wondering what exactly got him so distracted, before pausing at the sight of several sheets of paper, filled with drawings of people and cities. 

As if feeling his master’s gaze, the servant pauses, his brush mere millimetres away from a beautifully rendered painting of Eichi’s residence. 

When it is clear that Eichi is not expecting a response, he huffs out a small sigh (exasperated, but not irritated) and resumes his work. His hands are steady, moving with precision and grace as he adds detail after detail, as if he was breathing life into the paper itself.  

(Eichi fights the urge to laugh at that — who would have thought that his adorable angel of death would have been able to make the prison he’s been doomed to live in come to life so vividly?)

 

* * *

 

Keito tells him that there are two servants within the vicinity of the town. Eichi nods thoughtfully, before deciding that infiltrating a private property was a very good way to scout for enemies. (“It’ll be like one of those spy movies! Won’t that be fun?”)

“We have Assassin and Archer on our side,” Eichi murmurs thoughtfully, before a dark chuckle causes the four of them to freeze. 

Keito has his bow drawn in a heartbeat, his posture tense as he scans the corridor, and Eichi feels the familiar tingle of mana rushing to his fingertips as he readies a spell.  

“Assassin?” the voice laughs, scarlet eyes gleaming in the murky darkness, “You must be mistaken.” 

Several blades shoot out towards them, and Tori barely has time to react before Yuzuru sweeps him away to safety, while Eichi unleashes a wall of blue flames in front of them. A dark form emerges from the shadows. 

“Servant Assassin, at your service,” he bows mockingly, blood red eyes shining ominously in the dim lighting, before settling on Keito, whose eyes immediately widen in recognition. 

“It has been a while, old friend,” Assassin smiles, like a predator that has found its prey, and Eichi glimpses fangs — bright, gleaming, sharp. 

He makes out another form in the shadows. Purple hair, dark skin — Lancer, he presumes. 

“Archer— ” he barely has the time to command, before there is the clang of metal against metal, and he turns to see that Yuzuru has engaged Assassin in battle, with Tori’s enhancement magecraft supporting him.

 

* * *

 

Yuzuru’s gloves come off, revealing long, thick scars, running across his hands.

It is then that Eichi understands, that these are the hands of a hero who slew an entire army before being sent to his grave by the very master he served. 

“Destroy them, Berserker!” Tori yells, and Yuzuru grins, bloodlust shining in his gaze as he turns to Assassin. 

_“As my young master wishes.”_

He leaps forward.

 

* * *

 

Yuzuru looks back at them.

He knows that he is fighting a losing battle, because despite the high damage output Berserkers were feared for, they lacked the defence needed to survive a prolonged battle, let alone a two-on-one fight. With that thought, however, comes a growing determination. 

_‘I’ll drag them both down to hell, with these cursed hands of mine.’_

Tori realises it too late when Yuzuru pulls off his gloves for the last time, mana pouring into his hands as he readies his Noble Phantasm, the hands of a hero who had once taken the lives of so many for the sake of a master who had sent him to his grave without a second of hesitation. 

He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want Tori’s last memories of him to be filled with blood, death and destruction - ironically, the things he was most renowned for. He wants to be remembered as the butler who attended dutifully to his young master, the one who wielded knives with a swift and deadly precision, not the monster his legend had painted him out to be. It’s an unfulfillable wish - a futile dream, but it fills him with warmth all the same, even as he faces his death to protect yet another master. 

“Yuzuru!” 

_‘Ah, my master is calling.’_

He should turn back, save himself, like he should have all those lifetimes ago. Instead, he steps forward, eyes gleaming with barely-restrained bloodlust. 

_‘Just a little more…’_

“YUZURU!” 

A sudden wave of mana ripples out towards Tori, pushing him away from the servant he was so desperate to save. Their gazes lock. 

Fear. 

Tori is afraid for him, he realises, and that thought makes him want to smile and cry at the same time.  

_‘How fortunate’_ , he thinks, _‘for me to have met such a master like you.’_

_Run_ , his gaze screams, tinged with regrets— along with many words that were left unsaid. 

Something softer takes its place, along with muted resignation and acceptance, directed at Eichi. 

_Take care of him._  

Then, all semblance of humanity leaves his eyes as he sheds the last bit of restraint he has, giving in to centuries of primal instinct and battle-honed skills. He charges forward with a roar, fists clashing against solid metal as Eichi and Tori make their escape, Keito guarding their backs.

 

* * *

 

  _Once, there was a man, a touted ‘hero’ who possessed inhuman strength. He decimated entire armies as he fought for his master, striking fear into the hearts of those who opposed them. However, this is a heroic tale that ends in tragedy, because despite the man’s loyalty and devotion to his master, it was not enough._

_The same master who he had sworn his life to all those years ago stabbed in him the back - sending him to his death on a suicide mission. He was a mere distraction, one man against a thousand - meant to cover his master’s attempts at infiltration._

_What a foolish man, many had said, surely he had seen the signs? The way the king’s eyes, eyes that had once sparkled with awe and admiration, slowly grew corrupted by fear and doubt._

_(If that man, that hero, was his greatest asset, he could also become his greatest enemy.)_

_And so, the man, once known as a hero, died alone, deep in enemy territory, betrayed by the very man he served._

 

* * *

 

It’s over.

He’s fading now, golden wisps of prana rising from his body, as he lies on the broken slabs of stone and concrete that had once been their safe house. Blood is pooling around him, the fallen bodies of Lancer and Assassin long gone. Lancer’s master lies a fair distance away from him, probably caught in the falling rubble. Assassin’s masters are nowhere to be seen. They must have escaped to safety, he presumes. 

“I’m glad…” he whispers through a mouthful of blood, the red liquid coagulating in his throat making it harder and harder for him to speak. 

Glad that he had been acknowledged and accepted, glad that someone was able to see past the twisted being his legend had made him out to be, glad that finally - finally, Tori had been able to look at his true form without fear.

_(“Berserker… that means that you’re the strongest servant!”_

_“Do you have a wish, Yuzuru?”_

_“YUZURU!”)_

As he fades out of existence, his thinks that perhaps, he does not really need the Grail to fulfil his wish after all.

 

* * *

 

The end is drawing soon, Keito knows. Saber and his master await them at the heart of the forest that surrounds Eichi’s residence, away from any forms of interference.

Tsukinaga Leo’s magic, simply put, is the work of a genius. It weaves around them deftly, as if dancing to a tune, each movement more precise, more deadly than the previous. Eichi thinks that it is like a requiem, because they both know that only one of them would be able to walk away from this fight as a master. 

His servant, Saber, however, is far from pleased, often chastising his master to, “Take things more seriously, Leader!”

Eichi stifles a laugh at that, reminded of the times Keito had admonished him for the exact same thing. 

Sword and bow clash, in a fast-paced, furious battle, and a laugh rips its way out of Leo’s throat, his eyes bright with excitement. 

“Wahahaha! You’re strong, I like you!"

Keito grits his teeth in response, wings unfurling behind him as he takes to the skies, swiftly avoiding Saber’s strikes as he charges at him. 

“This battle shall be my masterpiece — my magnum opus! So give them your all, Suoo~” 

Saber flushes, looking rather put out, “Leader, you shouldn’t be using my name in front of the enemy!”

Then, Saber’s sword begins to glow, and Eichi instinctively activates his magic circuits to their limits, summoning every last drop of prana he possesses to produce a desperate barrier in response to the overwhelming power released by the servant in front of them. Keito’s wings fan out as he stands next to Eichi (never in front, never behind), glowing with a mysterious, ethereal light. 

“Judgement!”

“Transcendent Lotus!”

The two Noble Phantasms clash spectacularly, sending dirt, rocks and everything else in their path flying in all directions, and it takes Eichi almost all of his energy to keep the shield up. 

And then, just as swiftly as it had begun, it ends, in a flurry of clashing weapons and gold dust, leaving a single master, accompanied by a servant with wings the colour of the night sky.

 

* * *

 

They stand before the Grail — it’s over — they’ve won.

There is blood trickling out of Eichi’s mouth — much like their first meeting, Keito muses, but they have a much more pressing issue to deal with. 

The Holy Grail beckons to them, asking them for the wish that they have earned… except that neither of them seem to have one. 

Eichi closes his eyes, thinking of skyscrapers and brushstrokes on paper.

He smiles. 

“Being with you makes me feel alive, Keito.” 

“If I recall correctly, being with me nearly got you killed on several occasions,” Keito deadpans, but there is warmth seeping into his words, and he does not pull away when Eichi reaches for his hand. 

Eichi sighs dramatically, pushing away the nervousness that suddenly flourishes in the pit of his stomach, “And to think that I was trying to be romantic...” he trails off. 

“I wish…” he starts to say, before realising that he does not know what exactly he wants.  

I want to feel alive again. I want to live.  

_“I want you to stay by my side forever,”_ is left unsaid, as calloused fingers brush gently against his own. Eichi takes a moment to marvel at the fact that the same fingers, currently entwined against his own, had sent many others to their deaths. 

“Stay,” he says. A single word, carrying so many things with it — and Keito, who has finally found something worth wishing for, murmurs something inaudible in response. Their wishes, along with their hands — still connected — reach the Grail, enveloping them in a soft, golden glow, much like the light that had brought Keito to this world in the first place. 

“Run away with me, Keito,” Eichi breathes, tugging at their entwined hands, “We’ll go far, far away from the magus world.” 

Away from his family’s name and the responsibilities that came with it - away from the cold, calculating stares that peered out from behind a wall of painted smiles, away from the suffocating cloud of loneliness that had always surrounded him as a child.

“Is that a command?” Keito asks, even though they both know that he no longer answers to the command seals etched into Eichi’s hand, slowly fading away as his touch becomes warmer, realer, more _human_. 

He is no longer a hero, no longer bearing the burden of his legend on his shoulders, just like how Eichi no longer has to walk down the path his parents had so carefully paved out for him — a path he never chose, or wanted.  

He — no — they, are free.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve made at least 3 fate aus for enstars, save me 
> 
> this big bang was really fun!! i rewrote this so many times but i’m pretty happy with how this version turned out 
> 
> thank you [ebb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inberin), [gold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eggfish) and [maki](https://twitter.com/forcestrix) for proofreading this!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [like he hadn’t just flirted with death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555844) by [bao (sunwukong)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwukong/pseuds/bao)




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